


Wake Up to Paradise

by left_to_write



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Memory Loss, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_to_write/pseuds/left_to_write
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a bad bump on the head from falling over in his shack, Richard loses his memory. Camille is afraid of losing him altogether and tries to nurse (and cajole) him back to health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set near the end of Series 2. It is AU in that it will combine some (mild) elements of Series 3, but none of the horrors.

 

"I fear the Inspector's going to be 'out for the count', so to speak, for some time, Sergeant Bordey. He's had a nasty bump on the head, causing probable concussion. Fortunately, the CT scan was favourable, so no likely permanent brain damage, but there's no telling quite how long it will take him to wake up. When he does eventually 'surface', he may or may not be very lucid.

"I'm sorry not to be able to give you more positive news, but unfortunately we can't really predict what will happen yet. The Inspector may be comatose for a relatively short time, and when he does eventually wake up, he may have not only an aching head, but issues with disorientation and recollection.

"We'll keep you posted, but for now it might be best if you went home yourself and tried to get some rest. There's nothing more you can do for the Inspector here, I'm afraid."

 

Camille walked slowly and sadly into the Honore Police Station the following morning. Explaining to her colleagues, Dwayne and Fidel, how she had called round to his little beach house the evening before (at which the lads exchanged knowing glances) as he had not been answering her calls or text messages, and found him out cold on the floor of his 'living room'. Unable to wake him, she phoned for an ambulance which rushed him to the hospital, while she followed in the Defender.

"So how's he doing, then?" asked Fidel. "Is he any better this morning?"

Camille shook her head sadly. "Apparently, he still hasn't woken up yet and the doctor says he might be concussed; either way, when he does eventually regain consciousness, he might be a bit confused. At least his CT scan was okay - he's not bleeding internally in his head, so he's not at death's door..."

Dwayne made the same unusual gesture with his neck, head and eyes that he had done after her friend Aimee's death, and Fidel squeezed her upper arm. Clearly, there was an unspoken code for 'solidarity' gestures in this part of the world.

They then heard footsteps coming up the steps to the station and realised that Commissioner Patterson had arrived. Standing to attention in their customary fashion, complete with the Officer Myers salute, they proceeded to pass on the information regarding Richard's progress to the Commissioner.

"I'm sure you are all very concerned for the Inspector, but hopefully he will make a full recovery quite soon. I gather it is a very good sign that he does not seem to have sustained any significant brain damage or cranial haemorrhaging.

"Camille, if you would like to take the rest of the day off to go and visit Inspector Poole in hospital again, I'm sure the rest of us can hold the fort." The boys nodded their assent in unison. "If anything comes up for which you are needed here, we can always contact you."

Camille fought back tears as she smiled weakly and said, "Thank you, Sir; I appreciate that. I'd like to go to the hospital shortly if that's alright."

"Yes, yes, Sergeant, I'm sure that will be fine. And please, give him my best regards if you are able to speak with him."

 

Camille raced the Defender to the hospital somewhat faster than she really should have, but she could barely contain her anxiety. What on earth had Richard done to cause him to fall over in the first place, let alone hit his head so badly that he knocked himself out? He was a lot of things - fussy, pedantic, uptight and reserved at times - but he hadn't struck her as particularly clumsy. True, he didn't seem the most nimble person she could remember, but neither did he seem seriously physically inept.

All sorts of alarming and upsetting possible scenarios went through her head. Maybe he has some mystery illness that is as yet undetectable by the scanners, but which is making him dizzy and unbalanced? Maybe he has an infection or blood disease that has been weakening his defences and...?

_Oh stop it! This is crazy - you'll torture yourself to death with fear and speculation at this rate, and that won't help anyone, least of all Richard._

She was able to find a parking space with surprising ease and dashed up to the relevant floor, where she flashed her police credentials and was shown to the door of his private room. _Well, at least the Met look after their own_ , she mused.

The senior nursing sister who stood with her outside the door - peering through the glass panel - spoke kindly.

"He's still asleep, Sergeant Bordey, but the doctors think he may wake up fairly soon. His monitor shows he's been displaying signs of restlessness, so he doesn't seem to be in a deep state of unconsciousness like we might see in a medium to long term coma."

Camille's eyes widened with horror. _Medium to long term coma?? What the... ?!_

"But I thought he just tripped and fell over, or something like that!" she exclaimed, unable to conceal the alarm in her voice.

"Did you see it happen??" asked the nurse with considerable interest. A witness might be able to shed some light on the incident.

"Oh no, I just meant that that was what we all assumed. He was lying on the floor of his house when I arrived... " Camille's voice began to crack.

"I see. Well, why don't you take a seat in the waiting area, and I'll go and see if the doctor can come and talk to you soon? If he gives his approval, he may even let you sit in the room with Inspector Poole; I'm afraid it's not up to me," she explained.

Sister Derby led Camille to the waiting area, pointing out the vending machine where she could get tea and/or coffee, and a small snack, if desired. Alternatively, there was also a cafeteria for visitors on the next floor up, for anyone wanting something more substantial.

 

Sitting with her coffee in her hands (no snack; worry over Richard had ruined her appetite), she shot up the moment she spotted the man she assumed to be Richard's doctor approaching her.

"Good morning, Detective Bordey," he greeted her. "I'm Dr Lee, and I'll be looking after Inspector Poole from now on."

"Thank you, doctor," she said quickly, adding, "how is he?"

"Well, all the signs are good, he just seems to have knocked himself out. But the scan was normal and apart from a bump which you would expect, he doesn't appear to have any severe injuries to his head. Do you happen to know if he's ever suffered from seizures or fits of any kind? - _not_ that he has had one here, please don't be alarmed. We're just having to ask anyone who knows him well. I gather he doesn't have any family close by?"

"No, they're all back home in England." It occurred to Camille that while she had said 'all', she had, in fact, been under the distinct impression that Richard actually came from a small family.

"I see. Well, not to worry at this stage. It's very early days, but there's no reason to believe he won't make a satisfactory recovery. He was a bit restless earlier this morning, which we felt was actually a good sign, so we are now cautiously optimistic that he will probably waken a bit sooner than we first suspected."

"Is it possible to go in and see him?" ventured Camille.

"Yes, I don't see why not. You could even try talking quietly to him, nothing too taxing, of course," agreed Dr Lee.

Camille breathed a small sigh of relief. At least she could go in and be near him. "Thank you, doctor," she said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

 

Creeping quietly into Richard's hospital room accompanied by the doctor, Camille was encouraged to sit by the patient's bed and speak to him in gentle, dulcet tones. Then, leaving her alone with Richard, the doctor proceeded to say that should she have any concerns, the nurses' station was just at the end of the corridor, and someone would be within easy reach. In an emergency, there was also a button she could press, too.

Moving the armchair close to his bed, she observed that he was hooked up to a number of pieces of equipment, with plastic tubes seemingly just about everywhere. The monitor by the bed displayed various wavy lines that she didn't really understand, but she was encouraged by the doctors' cautious optimism and the appearance of Richard himself.

She wasn't sure quite what she had been expecting to see, but she was pleasantly surprised to discover that, to all intents and purposes, tubes and medical machinery notwithstanding, Richard looked surprisingly normal. As far as she could tell, he didn't look ill or bruised and battered - certainly nothing like some of the poor victims of violent crime that she'd been unfortunate enough to see in her career. Apart from a slight pallor (well, the man was a pasty Englishman in a tropical climate, who wore Sun Protection Factor 50, after all), Richard really just looked like he was asleep. Which, of course, he was, and that was the problem, because he wouldn't wake up.

Camille wondered idly if her mother's chicken soup waved under his nostrils might cause him to waken with a shudder and send him hurtling into the streets, begging for mercy. No, that wasn't very funny, not at a time like this, and not respectful to her poor dear _maman_ either, who only meant well.

She listened to the rhythmic breathing, and watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he lay there still fast asleep and looking so vulnerable. She began to let her mind drift, pondering their growing relationship as colleagues and friends, and she felt her eyes sting with tears. She'd never really thought about it before, but what if Richard didn't get completely better? The medical staff seemed to agree that he was unlikely to actually die, but what if the fall or bump had done something to him, and he was never quite the same again?

_What if I can't ever work with him again? What if he has to be sent back to England because he's no longer fit to carry on here?_

The thought filled her with dread, and she prayed that he _would_ recover. Remembering that she had been given permission to talk to him, she started to gently and quietly say a few words.

"Hello, Richard. How are you feeling? That was quite a little stunt you pulled last night, by all accounts. Trust you to arrange to have a lie-in in dramatic style. The lads are fine, and the Commissioner sends his best wishes, as well. We all hope you'll be back at work very soon, because we miss you and... "

Did she dare to whisper a secret little confession that had been taking shape in her heart in recent weeks and was crystallising now, in the face of potential heartbreak?

"And _I_ miss you, Richard... please get better soon... I miss you so much... I... I love you..." There, the words were out, albeit in a tiny whisper. Ever so gently stroking his hand with her fingertip, she said his name again:

"Richard Poole. I love you, you crazy, impossible Englishman. Come back to me... and to your lizard. Who do you think is going to - "

Just then she heard his breathing change and a little sigh escaped the back of his throat. Watching rapt as his eyelids fluttered, she witnessed him eventually open his eyes and stare up at her. She pressed the button to summon the nurse and/or doctor, and her heart did a little flip as he smiled up at her.

"Hello Richard! How are you?!" She was beaming at him.

He looked puzzled, his smile slowly disappearing into a frown of bewilderment.

"Oh... what are you doing here?" he asked her. _And where the hell is 'here'??_

She was about to respond when the nurse and a junior doctor came hurrying into the room at that instant, and Camille called out to them excitedly, "He's awake! He just woke up a moment ago!"

"Hellooo there, Inspector Poole!" enthused Senior Nursing Sister, Carol Derby. "And how are we feeling today? I hear you were trying to skate around your living room yesterday, hehe," she chuckled, in an attempt to humour her patient and put him at ease.

"Oh! Uh... I'm okay... I guess," said Richard slowly. Then, looking first at Camille and then at Sister Derby, he asked the latter, "But... what is my cleaner doing here?"

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

"Do you know where you are, Inspector Poole?" asked Nurse Derby, as the junior doctor went off to get Dr Lee.

"Um... who are you?" Richard asked, looking seriously perplexed.

"I'm Sister Derby. I'm in charge of this particular floor, and I'll be looking after you. How are you feeling?"

Richard, who wasn't in the best of conditions anyway for obvious reasons, appeared suddenly quite panic stricken.

"My underwear is clean, Sister, I promise. Please don't make me take it off now!"

Camille stared at him in shock, wondering what was going to come out of his mouth next. Nurse Derby, though, seemed to take it in her stride.

Turning to Camille, she said quietly, "This is the sort of thing that can happen after head injuries, even relatively minor ones. The patient is frequently disorientated and confused, either not knowing where they are, or who the people with them are. In extreme cases, they can even forget who _they_ are, but it doesn't look as though your Inspector is _that_ mixed up."

"Did you remember to sweep under the bed?" he asked Camille.

"What? Richard... I... are you in pain or anything?" She was getting increasingly alarmed at his bizarre comments and questions. Then she spoke quietly to Sister Derby. "Why would he think I'm his cleaner?! I'm his colleague on the Police Force."

"I can hear you whispering," Richard interrupted. "I bet you forgot to take my suits to the laundry like you promised, and now you're trying to wriggle out of it," he said accusingly.

Camille was beginning to get upset. She understood that Richard had sustained a head injury (though mercifully non life-threatening), but it distressed her to witness him starting to quietly rave like a lunatic. Fighting back tears, she felt she couldn't bear any more of this emotional torture, so she made her excuses to the nurse and fled.

 

"I thought the Commissioner gave you the morning off?" said Dwayne as she walked into the station an hour later. "So, how's the Chief, then? Has he still not woken up?" Dwayne assumed that if Richard had woken up, she would still be by his side which, indeed, she would have been had he not been rambling like a madman. She'd simply found it too agonising to witness.

"No, actually he _has_ woken up," she said in a subdued voice.

"That's great news!" cried Fidel. Then, seeing her long face, added, "isn't it?"

She shook her head sadly. "It should be, but he's very confused and disorientated. He thinks I'm his... his _cleaner_ , for pity's sake!" Something even more disturbing had entered Camille's mind, a dark and awful notion, and she was almost too upset to give voice to it.

"His what?" asked Fidel, not quite certain he had heard her correctly.

"His cleaner," Camille repeated, almost in a whisper. She was at this stage fighting back the tears. Then she asked the unthinkable.

"You... you don't think that he was... being...?" she ventured.

"Being what?" asked Dwayne.

"Well... he's English, isn't he? A _white_ Englishman..." started Camille. "You don't suppose he was being condescending or... or... racist... in some way, do you?" She was quite close to tears again.

Dwayne smiled compassionately. "No, Camille, of course not! The Chief's a lot of things, but he's no racist," he reassured her. "Think about it," he went on, "you remember when DI Hulmes was murdered and the Chief caught you in his shack, snooping around for clues? You yourself told him you were Charlie's cleaner, and you offered to be _his_ cleaner, too. Take it from me, Camille, whatever else he is, he is not a bigot. _No way_. Confused, maybe, but not prejudiced.

"Remember, the poor man has sustained a nasty head injury, probably chasing his lizard around the house or something like that, and he's gone a bit mental for a while. But I bet it's only a temporary thing. Don't take any of it personally."

"He also seemed to think the nurse was one of the nuns at his school because she introduced herself as 'Sister' Derby. He looked so small and weak, Dwayne; I just hated seeing him like that," Camille continued sadly.

"Well, what did the nurse say about it?" asked Fidel.

"She seemed to think it was quite normal behaviour for someone who's suffered a head trauma."

"I'm sure the nurse was right," said Dwayne. "And she should know."

"And he's in the best hands," agreed Fidel. "It sounds as though the Chief has already done better than the doctors first expected, anyway."

Camille allowed herself a little half-smile. "Yeah, you're right, that's true. And if he's been able to surprise them with his progress already, then surely he'll just keep getting better and better," she said, more in an effort to encourage herself than because she was convinced of the truth of it.

"Well look, there's still no need for you to stay here for the rest of the day," repeated Dwayne kindly. "Why don't you go and see your mother and talk to her? We'll give you a shout if we need you. Might as well take advantage of the Commissioner's generosity while it lasts," he chuckled.

"Okay I will, thanks."

"Let us know if you hear anything more?" asked Fidel.

"Sure, of course. Thanks." she answered, and set out for La Kaz with a slightly less heavy heart.

 

"Hello, _cherie_ , is Richard any better now?" asked a concerned Catherine.

"Well no, not really. The senior doctor warned me he could be all confused and delirious, and the nurse who was there when he was rambling just took it all in her stride and acted like it was the most normal behaviour in the world. I guess she's seen that kind of thing lots of times, but it was too upsetting to see and hear him like that," wailed Camille. "And he looked so sort of childlike and helpless." 

" _Cherie,_ I know it's hard to be a bystander, but I'm certain the medical staff know what they're doing. They're trained for all kinds of situations and illnesses, and I don't suppose for one minute that Richard's the first person ever to knock himself unconscious and then wake up all befuddled. Just try and stay calm about it. "

 

Several hours later, Camille went back to the hospital and stopped at the nurses' station first to ask how Richard was.

"He's doing surprisingly well, Sergeant," came the cheerful reply from one of the medical staff. "He's sitting up in bed and sounding quite a bit more coherent than he was earlier. He's by no means back to his old self, I'm sure, but he's definitely making good progress."

"And," added another of the staff, "he's been having a bit of food - well, soup and bread, light things."

"Yes, he's had a well-wisher, who brought some of her homemade soup for him. We recognised her as one of our local restaurant owners, and she kindly left what she said was her own special recipe chicken soup. Actually, she's only been gone a little while, so he may still be having it now. We took it in to him straight away as he'd said he was feeling a bit peckish. We felt that was definitely a good sign, too."

 _Maman!_ Camille began to feel another sense of alarm. Richard mustn't have any upsets in his present state, and even if he was hungry, if he thought her mother's chicken soup was what was on the menu, it could even finish him off, she surmised.

"Did he know who had left him the soup, and what it was?" she inquired.

"Naturally; we wouldn't simply expect a patient to accept anything from an outsider without asking them first. She left her name and the name of her restaurant, 'La Kaz'. We know it, anyway."

"And has anyone looked in on him recently?" she continued.

"Oh yes, just about five minutes ago," came the cheerful reply.

"May I go in and see him?"

"Yes, of course. I'll just pop my head in first, if you don't mind, and make sure he's still strong enough for visitors," one of the nurses answered.

Returning shortly, she affirmed that all was well and that Camille could follow her back to Richard's hospital room.

Richard was sitting up in bed, feeding himself Catherine's homemade chicken soup. When he saw Camille he smiled in recognition.

"Hi Camille. How are you? It seems I've done a silly thing - fallen over and given myself a bump on the head. Sorry about all this," he said cheerfully, clearly having no recollection of his previous lack of recognition of her as his very own Sergeant.

Camille hesitated. He looked and sounded a fair bit better, and yet there was something about him that still didn't seem quite right.

"Are you feeling okay now?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you, much better."

"I see you're having some soup," she started, tentatively.

"Mm, that's right. It's my friend Catherine's chicken soup. The nurses said she brought it earlier when I was sleeping, so she left it for me," he confirmed.

"... But she's not here now, so..." Camille hesitated. She wasn't sure how to broach the subject. "You... don't have to eat it, Sir. I can have them take it away and bring you something else if you prefer..."

"Certainly not, Camille! I'm enjoying this, thank you. It's absolutely delicious!"

At this latest remark, the hospital nearly found itself with two patients suffering from bumps to the head.

 

Recovering from the near shock of Richard's words, Camille tried to engage him in some light conversation.

"Dwayne and Fidel send their best wishes. They hope you'll be well enough to come back soon," she said, as nonchalantly as she could manage.

Richard smiled blankly, then raised his eyebrows in the manner she found so familiar.

"Uh... you remember, Dwayne and Fidel?" she asked.

"Are they in my year?" he asked.

"Sorry?" She was puzzled by his question.

"At school," he re-iterated. "Are they in my year at school?" he inquired again.

"N-no, Richard, they're the people we work with," she tried to explain.

"The Saturday paper round?"

"Pardon?"

"You know, the summer holiday paper round on Saturdays? Is that who you mean?"

Camille gulped. Richard was clearly not better - he was just different.

She tried a different angle. "Do you know _me_ , Richard?"

"Oh yes, of course." He smiled. "You're my girlfriend."

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. There were times when she would, if she were completely honest, have liked to be Richard's 'girlfriend', but he had never shown any overt signs of being interested in her in that way, in spite of some banter and a few flirtatious moments.

And yet here, when the poor man was clearly out of his mind (albeit only temporarily - she hoped), he was calling her exactly that. She smiled ruefully at the tragicomic irony of it.

She excused herself for a moment and summoned one of the medical staff.

"He's not right at all," she whispered tearfully. "He doesn't know who anyone really is, and I'm not sure he even knows who _he_ really is. I'm so worried about him."

The doctor smiled kindly. "Please try to be patient. Take comfort from the fact that he's out of physical danger; it's just a matter of time until he regains his normal faculties of recollection and recognition."

"But he will get better one day?" she pressed, anxiously.

"Almost certainly, but it's early days yet. The scans were favourable and his vital signs are good, too. We just have to let his memory catch up with his body, Sergeant."

Camille smiled with resignation. "Thank you, doctor. I'll try to keep remembering that. Perhaps you could tell him I was here, but have had to go home - in case he asks for me?"

"Of course. And try not to distress yourself over it too much. Remember: as with all things, it's one day at a time."

Camille nodded and set off out, knowing that the days ahead would be long and lonely without her beloved Inspector and friend.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Life limped on as normally as possible in the circumstances, but a couple of days later, Camille's mobile phone rang at the Honore Police Station. She looked down at the screen but didn't recognise the number at all.

"Hello?"

 _"Good morning, is that_ _Sergeant Camille Bordey, please?"_ the polite voice inquired.

"Yes, Camille Bordey speaking. How can I help you?"

 _"Oh hello, it's Nurse Diane Sheppard at the Royal Saint Marie Hospital here. I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm ringing about your colleague and friend, I believe, Inspector Richard Poole. He's been asking for you and... er... has been_ _quite persistent. Is there any chance that you might be able to - "_

"Yes, no problem; I'm on my way!" Camille practically flew out the door. "That was the hospital; Richard's been asking for me. Can you hold the fort while I'm away, please?"

"Yes, don't worry, Camille, we'll be fine. Please send the Chief our - " They were going to say 'best wishes', etc. but she was gone before they could get the words out.

 

Presenting herself at the nurses' station on the relevant ward, Camille asked for Inspector Poole again.

"I've had a phone call; I understand he's been asking for me. Is he alright?"" she asked somewhat breathlessly.

"Oh yes, he's fine physically. Still a bit... confused perhaps, but otherwise quite... stable," came the guarded response.

"Can I go in and see him now?" She tried not to sound too impatient, but she was desperate to get into his room and see how he was.

"Yes, of course. I'll take you right away."

Tentatively opening the door as the nurse had allowed her to do, Camille stuck her head through the door and peeked at Richard. He was half lying, half sitting, and he appeared wide awake and fairly perky.

"Hello Richard," she said gently, slowly approaching the bed.

"Camille!" The greeting burst from him. "Where have you been? I've been calling for you!" he exclaimed rather forcefully.

She was taken aback.. "Um... sorry, Richard. I've been at work and... well, I've had my phone with me so the... er... so they could ring me whenever they... or you... needed me. Is everything alright? Are you in pain or anything? Should I get you something from your house - a book of puzzles, perhaps?"

He looked surprised. "Puzzles? What do you mean? No, there was something important I wanted to ask you. That's why I've been trying to get hold of you, Camille," he insisted.

"Oh...kay, Sir. How can I help, then?"

Richard frowned. "Why are you calling me 'Sir'? It's not the Middle Ages, haha."

"Sorry?"

"It's okay, I forgive you. Now, will you give me your hand?" he asked her.

She stretched out her hand and he took it surprisingly tenderly, and stroked it.

"You see, I've been thinking about things, Camille. I think it's time we got married, don't you? So... will you marry me?"

 

Back at her desk at the station, Camille was lost in thought - and not inconsiderable anxiety.

 _I've got to talk to someone professional about this,_ she determined.

"So, how's the Chief? Has he recognised you properly yet?" asked Dwayne.

"Well... sort of. I mean, he calls me by my name but he doesn't really know that he's a police detective and that I... you know, that I'm a colleague. His mind kind of wanders back and forth, maybe from childhood, even," answered Camille in very subdued manner.

"Didn't the doctors say he could be like that for a while, though? I mean, as long as he's alright physically, he'll be okay in the end, won't he?" asked Fidel, his face a picture of concern.

"That's true," conceded Camille. "It's just rather sad to see him like that... so... disorientated."

"What did he want this morning, though?" inquired Dwayne. "When the hospital rang and said he'd been asking for you? Don't tell me he wanted you to mop the floor, hehe."

"Very funny, Dwayne. No, he's moved past that phase, thank goodness. Although... I'm not sure he's much better yet. He thought that you two were friends from _school_ and that I was..." She hesitated, not wanting to give away the things that Richard had been asking about her. They may have been said out of context (or sanity, even), but they were private, as far as she was concerned. Whatever she and Richard had, whatever they may or may not have felt for each other - whether suppressed or declared - was their (or her) little secret.

"Well...?" persisted Dwayne. "What did he want?"

"He wanted to ask me to... um... bring him something... a book of... um... crossword puzzles from his shack," she fibbed. "He seemed okay, really, and the nurse said he was getting stronger... so that's good." She hoped that would draw that particular line of questioning to a close.

"Anyway," she added, changing the subject, "how are you getting on with the Penrose case?"

"Fine," answered Fidel. "We spoke to two witnesses who both said they remember seeing a burgundy coloured car driving off at speed around 9 or 10 o'clock on Wednesday night..." his voice trailed off in her head.

Shaking herself to a semblance of alertness, she replied, "Oh, great. Write it all up in your report if you will, please. Thanks." Then she got her head down and forced herself to focus on work for the rest of the day.

 

That evening at home, Camille went online and searched for any topic she felt might be relevant to Richard's condition and/or strange behaviour. Realising that there was both not enough and too much disjointed information out there, she decided it would be much better if she could speak to one of his doctors again in person. Knowing that she was not a relative, let alone next of kin, she wondered how she might manage it.

She got her wish the very next day when the hospital phoned her again at about 10 o'clock.

_"Miss Bordey? This is Nurse Stella Stevens here. I apologise for our having to disturb you yet again, but Inspector Poole is refusing to eat now unless he can see you. Is there any possibility that you could come in again? Dr Lee says he would be happy to speak with you about the situation, if you have no objection."_

"I'll be there as soon as possible," Camille assured her.

"Dwayne, Fidel, that was the hospital again. The Chief is being a bit... restless, and as his family are so far away, he has been asking for me, apparently." She sought to minimise the true situation.

The lads exchanged glances before Dwayne answered, "Yeah, just go Camille. Don't worry about stuff here, it's all under control."

"Thanks!" she shouted as she flew out the door again.

"Do you think something's going on between them?" Fidel asked.

"Of course, but whereas it was always under the surface before, I bet it's bubbled right up to the top now that the Chief's taken a bump to the head. He's probably been saying more weird things to make Camille keep running over there to be by his side every five minutes. Maybe he's even proclaiming that he can't live without her!" he conjectured, only half joking.

 

Camille was surprised to find Dr Lee waiting for her by the nurses' station near Richard's room. She had, of course, been hoping to speak to him or a member of the team treating Richard, but she hadn't expected him to be there already.

"Sergeant Bordey, thank you so much for coming in yet again. I thought it might be a good time to have a chat about the Inspector, if you don't mind, and as I usually do my rounds at about this time of the morning, it seemed a fortuitous opportunity," he said, opening up what was to be an important conversation for Camille. "Perhaps we could just slip into this little visitor's room here, for some privacy?"

Showing her into a small room normally used by patients' friends and family, they were fortunate to find it unoccupied at that time. 

"Normally, of course, we would prefer to speak to a patient's family members for obvious reasons of confidentiality, but there are two factors in this instance that have made me decide we need to be a bit more flexible," the doctor continued.

"First of all, the Inspector doesn't have any family in the area, and his condition isn't really serious enough to warrant ringing them in the UK and causing possible alarm to them. The second reason that I am confiding in you, Sergeant Bordey, is that Richard, if I may refer to him by his first name (we usually do with patients, actually, as it creates a reassuring environment), has become somewhat... ahem... fixated on you."

Camille eyes widened with something akin to shock and confusion. "Fixated?? I'm not sure I understand. We are just friends who work together," she began slowly.

The doctors cleared his throat. "Forgive me being rather personal, Sergeant, but is it possible that Richard could at some time have construed your friendship as more... romantic or... ahem... intimate, even?"

"I don't think so, Dr Lee. If anything, Inspector Poole is one of the most reserved people I've ever met. I don't mean he's cold, but he's... um... I would say he suppresses things." That was the best way Camille could find to describe Richard in the circumstances. Of course, she didn't want to use words like 'uptight', 'pedantic' or 'stuffy' now.

Dr Lee smiled and nodded with understanding. "Yes, that doesn't surprise me too much. You see, sometimes a patient can develop a condition called 'emotional disinhibition', and while Richard's case is certainly not extreme, there _are_ indications that he may have a fairly mild form of it. It's interesting that it is often the people who, in normal day to day life make a habit of suppressing their feelings, that are the ones most likely to succumb to this. It's basically a form of release for otherwise tightly held emotions.

"As I said, Richard's case is in no way extreme or worrying, but he does appear to have developed a temporary emotional dependency or fixation on you. He's been asking for you almost constantly for the last couple of days and this morning he told Sister Derby that he wouldn't eat another thing until you came back and stayed with him."

Camille swallowed hard. She had gradually begun to face the truth that she had very strong feelings for Richard, and she hoped that somewhere deep inside him those feelings might be reciprocated, but not in this unnatural fashion. She thought of the occasional flirtatious moments and the sparkling banter they'd sometimes exchanged, but there was nothing that could have been interpreted as outright 'love' or 'romance'.

She had another question for the doctor - one whose answer was important to her own emotional well-being, she felt. "Um... does that mean that the feelings Richard's been expressing are genuine ones that had been... um... repressed or hidden, or are they simply imaginary ones as a result of bumping his head, doctor?"

He gave her another knowing smile. "I would say that they are almost certainly based on real - possibly subconscious - emotions that have now been a bit, shall we say, 'enhanced' by his current condition. But psychologists will probably tell you that they are unlikely to be complete figments of his imagination. In other words, if the Inspector didn't have authentically... tender... feelings towards you, I very much doubt whether he would be coming out with the things he's been saying."

Camille was baffled. This went beyond her wildest dreams - more of a scary one, actually. "But... couldn't he be mixing me up with someone else he cares for... say, his mother, for example?" she surmised.

"Well, technically anything is possible, but I doubt very much whether he would ever have thought of his mother as his 'fiancee'. For that is how he has been referring to you."

"But, what am I supposed to do? Will he ever snap out of it?"

"I wouldn't be inclined to look at it in terms of 'snapping out of it'. He will gradually return to his normal self, I am quite confident, but it will more likely be a _process_ rather than an _event_. As for what to do: well, do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Sergeant Bordey?"

Camille shook her head. "No."

"Do you love Richard? I mean, romantically, not just as a friend?"

Her eyes flashed and threatened to mist up. But there was no point in lying to this kind doctor, and still less to herself, so she said quietly, "Yes, I suppose I do." She looked down shyly at her feet.

"Then telling him so could help him enormously in his recovery, I believe," he replied gently.

Then, letting that sink in for a few moments, he asked her, "Now, would you like to go in and say 'hello' to him? I don't think he can wait much longer, anyway."

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for such a long delay in updating this story - I got about halfway through this chapter and then had to take a very long and unexpected break. Anyway, thank you to those who have commented in the meantime, and I hope it doesn't seem too disjointed.

 

 

Camille took a deep breath and put on a cheerful smile before entering Richard's hospital room and greeting him again.

"Hello, Richard. I hear you've been asking for me?" she said, as calmly as she could.

"Oh Camille, thank goodness you're here at last! No one would tell me where you were, and I was calling for you," he said.

"I'm sorry. I was... at work, you see."

Richard frowned, as if trying to figure out what Camille meant or where she worked.

"Work?"

 _Ah, this may be my opportunity to steer the conversation in a helpful direction,_ she thought.

"Yes, Richard. I work at the police station in Honore."

"Honore?"

"Yes; Honore is the main town here on Saint Marie, where we are now."

"We're not in England?" Clearly he was still befuddled.

"No, Richard. We are on an island in the Caribbean sea, called Saint Marie. Actually, you and I normally work together at the police station in Honore."

"We do?"

She smiled indulgently. "Yes. In fact, you're my boss, Richard."

"Your boss? Does that mean I can tell you what to do?"

Camille chuckled. _Well, you can try...._ "Yes, I guess it does, really. When we are at work, you're allowed to give the orders or instructions, and our colleagues, Dwayne, Fidel and I are supposed to do what you ask us to."

Richard nodded. "I see. That's nice."

"So... we were hoping that you might be feeling - "

"Camille?!" He interrupted her as if a sudden, urgent thought had come to mind.

She felt a bit alarmed. "What is it, Richard? Are you alright?"

"I'm still waiting for you to answer my question," he announced, rather indignantly.

"I'm sorry. What question was that?" Camille was starting to feel overwhelmed with all of his questions.

"When are we going to get married?" _So he hadn't forgotten._

She had tried changing the subject the day before when he had 'proposed', but he was obviously not so easily put off after all.

She lowered her voice a bit. "I don't know, Richard. I really don't know. I think you probably have a bit of... resting... to do first," she replied softly.

"Can't I rest afterwards, instead?"

She couldn't help letting another little chuckle escape. "Of course, but... after you've rested... you might... feel... differently."

He frowned. "Why? What do you mean?"

"Well... it's a big decision to make. It might be a good idea to... er... sleep on it a bit more before you make up your mind for sure." She was trying to think on her feet.

"But I _am_ sure, Camille. Don't you want to marry me?"

Unexpected tears filled her eyes. _Actually, sometimes I almost think I do, but..._

"Don't you love me?" he persisted. His appeal was heart-breaking in its childlike simplicity and innocence.

Wiping away an escaping tear, she answered quietly, "Yes I do, Richard."

Richard smiled triumphantly. "So, that's okay, then. I'm feeling very rested now."

Camille squeezed his hand gently, and he closed his eyes and began to drift off to sleep, still clutching her hand. She waited for a few more minutes until she was sure he was well away in the land of nod, and then tip-toed out. Although initially tempted to have a coffee in the hospital canteen just in case Richard should wake up and ask for her again before long, she wisely decided that it made more sense not to hang around like a lovelorn schoolkid herself (one of those was enough at the moment), but to go back to Honore and await any news from there.

 

"Any more news on the Chief?" asked Dwayne when she arrived at the station about twenty minutes later.

"He's about the same," replied Camille with a shrug. Clearly she had no intention of revealing the intimate - not to mention surreal - nature of their conversation, so she merely added, "he's still pretty groggy and nodded off not long after I got there. I left him sleeping just now and came straight here."

"Do you think he's making _any_ improvement though, as far as you can tell?" asked Fidel.

Camille shook her head sadly. "Not really, to be honest, Fidel. I mean, he doesn't seem to be suffering physically, but he's obviously not all there mentally, by any stretch of the imagination. It's hard to see our clever and brilliant Chief looking and sounding so confused."

The boys exchanged glances at the tone of sadness in her voice. She was clearly choking back the tears, and they had a pretty good idea that it was not only out of professional concern or dismay.

"If you don't mind, I think it would be best if we could just concentrate on getting on with our cases now," she suggested, and they concurred.

"Yeah, there's been a report of shoplifting at Louis'," said Dwayne.

"Oh," said Camille, "as in Louis', the General Stores?"

"Mm hm. Call came in a couple of minutes before you got here. I was about to head over there when you walked in," he added, trying to sound properly efficient and conscientious.

Camille was too weary to notice and simply replied, "Okay thanks. Why don't you both go over now and start by asking to view any CCTV footage, please. And then maybe talk to the staff, see if anyone saw anything. I've got a small mountain of paperwork to catch up on, so I'll stay and hold the fort."

Fidel suppressed a smile at the rather obvious instructions; after all, they were experienced and competent officers and hardly needed telling how to carry out basic investigation techniques. He and Dwayne put it all down to her worry about Richard.

"Sure thing, Sarge. See you shortly," answered Dwayne as he packed up the usual kit bag and departed with Fidel.

 

It was about two to three hours later when Commissioner Patterson unexpectedly walked into Honore police station. The lads had phoned in earlier saying that they'd finished taking statements, viewing the CCTV footage and dusting for any possible fingerprints at Louis'. It had all turned out to be rather more time consuming than they had anticipated, and they were then stopping off for some lunch before heading back to the station, but had not yet arrived when the Commissioner turned up.

Camille gave a small start of surprise at Patterson's arrival, and stood up to greet him.

"Sir," she acknowledged respectfully.

"Good afternoon, Camille," he responded.

Then looking around the station, he inquired as to the other officers' whereabouts.

"Oh, they're on their way back from processing a crime scene at Louis'," Camille answered.

He raised his eyebrows. "Anything serious?"

"Oh no, Sir, just a shoplifting incident, I understand. No one has been hurt or anything like that, mercifully."

"Good, good, I'm glad to hear it," the Commissioner replied. Taking a deep breath, he went on, "Sergeant - Camille - I've got a bit of news that may be a little... er... difficult for you. In fact, for the whole team, but I wanted to speak to you about it alone first."

Camille looked at him with evident concern in her eyes. She guessed correctly that it was about Richard.

"Yes... the uh... hospital has just rung me at my office to advise us that they think it best if Inspector Poole was flown back to the UK for some further tests and perhaps even specialist treatment, if necessary. I gather they are beginning to feel a bit concerned and, because he is... ahem... from the Metropolitan Police Force in London, they especially don't want to take any chances."

Camille was thunderstruck. "But... um... I thought they weren't... that... worried about his... um... condition, Sir," she faltered. "They've been... basically... saying... almost from the beginning... that there was nothing much to worry about, that he... just... needed time to sort out the... er... confusion... he's been experiencing." Now she was really having to fight to hold back the tears.

"I know, I know," said the Commissioner gently, "and I remember that too. They're saying that this is mainly just a precaution; they seem to have now got it into their heads that a big London teaching hospital will have the answers that they themselves frankly do not have. And, of course, they're probably terrified of being sued if they were to miss anything. They were keen to stress that they are treating it as a precaution only."

_So, they're passing the buck._

Camille nodded bravely. "How long is Richard - Inspector Poole - likely to be away, Sir?"

"I don't know, that will be up to the doctors in the UK. After some more tests in hospital, he'll almost certainly have to spend some time convalescing there, so I'm guessing it could be a few weeks. I'm sorry about that, Camille."

The latter gulped and tried to hide her shock and dismay. "Well... what about work, Sir?"

The Commissioner took another deep breath. "I've arranged for another Detective from the Met to come out to Saint Marie for an initial three weeks while Inspector Poole recuperates. His name is Inspector Goodman and he'll be joining the team the day after tomorrow."

 _Well, you don't waste much time,_ she thought somewhat bitterly.

 

When Dwayne and Fidel finally reached the station, they had apparently already been waylaid by Commissioner Patterson and told the news by him. Inspector Poole was to be flown home by air ambulance the following morning, and his post would be temporarily filled the day after that by one Inspector Humphrey Goodman, also of the London Metropolitan Police Force. They couldn't help but wonder not only how soon Richard would recover, but what the new Inspector would be like.

"Do you reckon he'll be another English fusspot?" speculated Dwayne, as the three of them sat at Catherine's bar, La Kaz, later that evening.

Camille's hackles rose. "Look, this is no time to speak badly of Richard! He may have been a bit... annoying... when he first got here, but he's much better now and... and...," her lower lip was starting to quiver ever so slightly. "This is not the moment to make jokes at his expense..."

The two men exchanged glances. 

 _Oh man, she's got it bad,_ thought Dwayne. "Sorry, Camille. You know I didn't mean anything bad by that. To tell you the truth, I'm nervous too," he confessed. "And not just about what the new guy will be like, if you know what I mean."

Camille did know. Although none of them wanted to air their fears aloud, they were each somewhat scared that Richard might be in more serious trouble than anyone had imagined at first.

Fidel frowned. "I wish we'd been able to say 'goodbye', although I know that wouldn't have been very realistic."

"And quite frankly, he wouldn't have understood anyway, even if that had been possible," Camille replied sadly. And she especially didn't want to think that they might never see him again.

Dwayne decided he couldn't take any more heaviness. "Listen, I'm sure the Chief will be okay, really. It may take a little time to... uh... you know... unscramble his brains... but you wait, he'll be back here again before too long, you'll see," he asserted with more optimism than he actually felt.

Camille rolled her eyes at the 'unscramble his brains' phrase, but she nevertheless was grateful for Dwayne's efforts at being positive.

Fidel took his cue from the older man and added in turn, "Yes Camille, Dwayne's right. The Chief is strong and bright and determined. If anyone can get well quickly, it'll be him. After all, he certainly won't want to be hanging around doing nothing and getting bored to tears, will he?"

"You're right," she agreed. "Let's drink to him and look forward to the day he returns. And we can always keep in touch while he's away, can't we, and do our best to encourage him," she said as cheerfully as she could manage.

"Yes, aye. Let's drink to him then," toasted Dwayne, lifting his glass of beer. The others raised their respective glasses in response.

"To the Chief!" they said in unison.

"Get well soon," said Fidel, with feeling.

"And come back soon," added Camille. _I just hope you don't decide to stay there for good_.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

The day of Detective Inspector Humphrey Goodman's arrival at the Honore Police station was different from what the team had been expecting. For a start, D.I. Goodman was not dressed like a British policeman. And he didn't act like one either; at least not if Richard Poole's behaviour had been anything to go by.

Unsurprisingly, Commissioner Patterson had escorted Humphrey to meet the team at the station, and their first sight of the new Metropolitan Police Inspector was of a brightly dressed, slightly perspiring, tousled-haired man of about 39-40 years old, lolloping up the steps and rather clumsily dragging his suitcase with him.

"Good morning team, I'd like you to meet Detective Inspector Humphrey Goodman from the Met, who has graciously agreed to help us out while Inspector Poole completes his convalescence back in the UK," announced the Commissioner. "Inspector, may I present Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey; Sergeant Fidel Best; and Officer Dwayne Myers. I'm sure we can count on them to give you every assistance."

The lads, who had exchanged furtive glances when they caught sight of Goodman unceremoniously stumbling up the steps and along the veranda, nodded courteously and said almost in unison, "Inspector."

Camille was more guarded in her response but nevertheless managed to force out a civil, "Good morning, D.I. Goodman."

Humphrey smiled brightly and repeated, "Hello, hello," in an eager-to-please sort of way.

"Well," continued the Commissioner, "I'll leave you all to it, if you don't mind. I have an important luncheon to attend shortly at Government House," and sauntered off to his eagerly awaited function.

"Shall I show you to your desk?" offered Fidel helpfully.

"Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you... um... Dwa - "

"I'm Dwayne, he's Fidel," interrupted the former.

"Ah yes, of course, Fidel," apologised Humphrey, slightly embarrassed by his possible faux pas. He didn't wish to offend his new team on his very first day at work on Saint Marie, even if he was only supposed to be there for a short stay. "Sorry."

Fidel was completely relaxed about the mix up. "Don't worry, Sir. After all, you've only just got here." Then, showing him inside the station, indicated the empty desk where Richard normally sat.

Camille bristled a bit at the prospect of this new interloper sitting at Richard's desk, but reminded herself that it would not be a permanent placing and that Richard himself would almost certainly want them to be helpful and accommodating to his temporary stand-in.

To his credit, Humphrey picked up the vibes, and offered to take the spare desk in a different corner. "I'll be fine here," he offered cheerfully. "That way there's no need to disturb D.I. Poole's things," he said graciously, plonking himself down on the corresponding chair.

Camille and the boys decided they liked him better already from that moment on. Later that evening, the team invited Humphrey for drinks at La Kaz where he also met Catherine, and the next few days passed harmoniously enough.

To her further relief, the new Inspector was not given Richard's shack to live in during his stay on the island, but rather a small rented villa where Humphrey even had hopes of his wife joining him imminently.

Always in the back (or front, to be honest) of Camille's mind, however, was her continued concern about Richard and how he was progressing back in London.

 

About a week later, Camille was tapping her pen against her teeth absentmindedly during a ten minute lull one morning. She was poring over a crossword puzzle she had found in the back of that day's local paper, probably in an unconscious attempt to emulate Richard.

Dwayne saw her and was amused. "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, isn't it, Camille?"

She looked up sharply and immediately put the pen down and folded up the paper, quickly guessing what Dwayne meant.

"Ooh, who are you imitating, Camille?" piped up the latest recruit, i.e. Humphrey Goodman. Keen to enjoy himself and to fit in with the team, he was doing his best to join in any friendly banter and chit chat.

Cordial and co-operative with Humphrey, the team had to admit that in spite of his rather strange habit of dropping, losing or forgetting things, he was, in fact, a more than half decent detective. 

Nevertheless,  they would be happy and relieved to have their old Chief back, and the sooner the better, if the truth be told. Yet because of a slower than desired improvement in Richard's condition, it had been unrealistic to expect any answers to their e-mails so far, although they had at least learnt that the results of his MRI scan had revealed nothing untoward.

Camille gave a slight start. It was embarrassing enough that the lads seemed to know so much about her feelings for Richard, but to be caught virtually copying his habit of doing puzzles was a bit too much of a giveaway - not least to herself.

"Oh, nothing," she answered Humphrey a tad defensively, "I didn't think I was doing anything."

Humphrey dropped the subject. "Right, well, thank you all for your help this week. I have to admit I was taken somewhat by surprise when my governor back home told me I was to be coming to the Caribbean to stand in for a fellow Met detective for a little while. I'm not sure how long I'll be here, but I'm grateful for your support, and for not resenting my presence here while your normal D.I. is ... er... recuperating.

"Now, Dwayne, Fidel, how did you get on with the Martinez brothers while Camille and I were interviewing the party guests?" he went on, trying to sound as business-like as possible. He was referring to his latest - and so far most serious - case, involving likely money laundering and/or smuggling.

Dwayne answered first. "Oh, not too bad. They were reluctant to talk at first - you know the usual thing, they don't like getting involved - "

"Or talking to the police," added Fidel.

"Exactly," agreed Dwayne. "Anyway, we got there in the end. Apparently, they _did_ see a boat fitting the description of Potter's leaving the harbour late on Thursday night. They had been either too scared or too police-shy to admit it before."

Humphrey smiled with satisfaction. "So, Potter was lying about its having been docked and moored all week. I suspected as much. Let's gather everyone together at the Stephensons' house tomorrow, if possible. Good work, you two."

"You know who the culprit is, then?" asked Fidel. "I mean, Potter's wife and kids still swear he was at the party at their home on Thursday night and, according to his wife, after they retired to bed around 2am he never left the house."

"Yes, that's as may be, but he needn't have been the one who actually took the boat out on Thursday night. Remember, he has several crew members working for him, doesn't he?" replied Humphrey.

And, true to his word, Inspector Goodman gathered all his suspects together at the home of another wealthy couple who had featured in the inquiry, and unmasked the perpetrators of the crime. His style was vastly different from Inspector Poole's, but it was clear that he was a similarly clever and gifted detective.

 

Celebrating the resolution of this latter case on Saint Marie, albeit not a murder mystery, D.I. Goodman had joined the three others at La Kaz the evening of the 'reveal' and drank to his first success with the Honore Police Force.

"Thanks for all your help, guys," he ventured. "It's been a great experience working with you. I just love it here in 'Paradise'."

"No problem, Sir, always happy to help out," responded Dwayne, half sincerely and half tongue-in-cheek. _He's nice enough, but I'm blowed if I'm gonna call him Chief yet, though._

"Oh please, it's Humphrey. Remember?" reminded the latter.

Camille asked aloud what the rest of the gang had been wondering. "Do you think you'll be wanting to stay on in the Caribbean if you get the opportunity?" _In other words, are you angling for Richard's job?_

Humphrey shrugged. "Well, I have to admit that would be a dream come true. I jumped at the chance to come out here on even a temporary assignment but, assuming that a position were ever to  become available, it would have to be sorted out with Sally, my wife.

"At any rate, I understand Inspector Poole is expected to make a full recovery and will be keen to return as soon as he's declared fit."

Dwayne snorted. _I wouldn't be so sure of that. He doesn't really like it out here, in spite of a certain female colleague_ , he thought to himself.

Guessing what he was thinking, Camille shot him a glance. "Yes, that's quite right, Humphrey. Richard _will_ be back just as soon as he's well enough," she said, perhaps a trice too forcefully. 

"I don't doubt it," Humphrey concurred pleasantly.

 

"Well, have you heard any more news from England yet, _cherie_?" asked Catherine as Camille was sitting at the bar in La Kaz a couple of days later. It was her attempt at asking her daughter if she knew anything about Richard, but without being too direct.

"No, _Maman_ ," came the wistful reply. "We've e-mailed a couple of times and I've sent him a text message, but... so far... nothing."

 "But I assume you have heard via Selwyn Patterson that the clinic where he's convalescing is pleased with his progress so far, haven't you?" persisted Catherine. So, the Commissioner had been talking to Camille's mother.

"Yes, I suppose so, but... " Camille let the word trail off.

Catherine nodded knowingly. "I know, you would have liked to have heard something from him personally. I understand." She smiled at her daughter sympathetically.

Camille hadn't told anyone about Richard's protestations of love for her at the hospital on Saint Marie, least of all her mother. After all, not only would it have been far too intimate a revelation for such a private person as Camille, but she also knew perfectly well that he hadn't been anything like his true self at the time anyway - which, of course, made it seem to her all the more heart-breaking. Better if he had said nothing whatsoever, or had even failed to recognise her altogether. Well, maybe not the latter, that would have been hard....

"But I don't expect it will be long now. And at least you know he's not in any danger," she added as helpfully as she could.

Little did either of them know how ironic those words would sound a mere 24 hours later.

"True. Thanks _, Maman_ ," conceded Camille and they left it at that.

 

It was only the following day that Commissioner Patterson entered the Honore Police station and greeted the three members of the team apart from Humphrey.

"Good morning, Sir," they said as they stood to attention.

"Good morning, team. Inspector Goodman not here?" he inquired lightly.

"I think he's just popped out to the market for some cakes," revealed Fidel, then looked around uncertainly as if wondering whether it was acceptable to divulge such details to the Commissioner.

"Yeah, it was his turn - " Dwayne started to add, before getting a discreet nudge in the arm from Camille.

 "Well, never mind," Patterson said smilingly. "It was Sergeant Bordey I was hoping to have a chat with, anyway. May I steal you away for a moment, please?"

Taking Camille aside as was his custom when wishing to speak confidentially, the Commissioner came to the point - eventually.

"Sergeant - Camille - how is your workload at the moment? I mean to say, could the team spare you for a week or two (or maybe more, if necessary)? You see, something rather urgent has come up," he began.

Camille was naturally intrigued and puzzled. "Um... well, there are a couple of cases that we are working on at the moment, and I have to finish writing up my report on the attempted taxi-cab hijacking but, other than that, everything seems to be in hand, Sir," came the reply.

"Excellent, I'm pleased to hear that, Camille. And I gather that Inspector Goodman is fitting in nicely - that is, you would be leaving the rest of the team in capable hands with him, albeit only temporarily; is that correct?" Patterson continued.

 "Ye-es, I'm sure that would be alright... Um, do you mind if I ask what this is all about, Commissioner?" asked Camille, beginning to feel mildly anxious as well as curious.

"Well, I may need you to go to London to... assist with Inspector Poole, if you think you could handle that, Camille," said Patterson with a frown and an uncomfortably (to Camille) serious expression on his face.

Camille raised her eyebrows in genuine surprise. Her heart gave a little skip, partly in fear, partly in anticipation of a possible return on his part to Saint Marie.

 _"London, Sir?_ Do they need my help in bringing Rich - Inspector Poole - back here?" she ventured hopefully.

The Commissioner shook his head. "I'm afraid it's a little more complicated, Camille. You see, the Met have been on the phone to me in the last few hours and they've expressed some real concern about the Inspector," he began.

Her eyes flashed. _Please God, no. Don't let him be unwell._

"Is he.... ??" She didn't dare utter out loud her worst fears.

Realising the misunderstanding, Commissioner Patterson was quick to reassure her that no, Richard had not suffered a medical relapse - or worse.

"It's not his health as such. In fact, he is continuing to improve almost daily, according to what the Met have gleaned from the clinic, although it may take a while longer before he is completely... ahem... out of the woods. No, this is an altogether different matter, Camille," he replied.

Straightening up to his full height, he finally told her.

"I'm afraid the Met had just been informed by Greater Manchester Police that the Inspector's former colleague and murder suspect, ex-Chief Inspector Doug Anderson, has escaped from their custody and is believed to be heading for the capital."

 

 


End file.
